Behind the Glass
by SummerLove16
Summary: In order to pay for her son's chemotherapy, Bella takes a job as a psychiatrist for a hockey team.  Captain Edward Masen is more than she expected. As she and Jacob struggle, will sparks fly with Edward?
1. Chapter 1

_Read and Review! (: I look forward to hearing what you guys think! This story is long, but well worth it (I promise). _

…_. ….. …. … …. …. ….. …. … ….. ….. ….._

**November 6****th****, 4:30 pm**

I stared down at the case file in my hand, the black print blurring together like the gray fuzz of the television screen late at night. I blinked, glancing around the office I had been assigned-the examination table and locked cabinet of medication, the framed copy of my degree, and the couch, reclining in front of the wide, welcoming oak desk. The walls were an inviting green, light enough to be barely noticeable, but dark enough to make the room seem wider, airier. A potted palm tree sat by the edge of the desk, looking withered from lack of water, which struck me as ironic, because there was a plastic water cooler crouched in the corner.

If you didn't know it, you probably wouldn't guess that the locker room for one of the most notorious hockey teams in the northern hockey league was situated right outside. The same hockey team that had just lost their head coach, and many of their rookie players in a tragic bus accident. The hockey team that was supposed to be attending a welcome dinner for their new, replacement coach tonight. I sighed, readjusting my plastic name tag- "Isabella Black, Psychiatrist". At twenty-six years old, my degree was complete, and I had two years of practice under my belt-which struck most as amazing. But that's the way things have always been for me. Until recently. My glance fell back to the file.

_Edward Masen- Left Wing, Captain_

_25 years old._

_-anxious, edgy_

_-projects blame_

_-interrupted eating patterns _

_-aggressive on and off the ice_

I had spent my practice working with a university soccer team, doing much the same as I would be here-working with a team after a tradgedy struck. In that case, their captain had committed suicide. When their assistant captain had folded under pressure, and suffered a nervous break down, I was asked to step in. Within six months, he was playing as well as he had been before the break down. And in the world of professional sports, that's all that really matters, right? If I let it, that case would keep me awake at night. The coach had told me when I started: Get him playing. I don't care how you do it. We need him for the finals.

Six months later, their assistant captain was back a changed man-on so many anti-depressants he could barely think straight. He plays in the pros now. I'm not sure which is worse: That no one cared enough to help him then, and I let him walk away, or that his smiling face is now plastered across every magazine on the newstand-complete with the doped, plastic smile. No one cares enough to help him now, either. But that's why I was hired here: to fix their star, and get him back to the player on the ice he needs to be. Five million a year doesn't pay if it's not scoring.

I had been informed that, while I would be asked to take the role of attending psychiatrist to the entire team, Edward needed serious help. Apparently, the phone call had finally been made when he punched the team medic in the face-over a bottle of Gatorade. In any other situation, that would have struck me as funny. But I understood the pain he was in. Well hidden within the plexi-glassed world of the arena, most players and staff close to Edward said he was cold, hard to be around, disruptive during practices. And he had stopped scoring. He had avoided interviews since their coach was killed, and had apparently stopped socializing with the team. I had seen this in previous players, the coldness, and the avoidance of the media. They wanted help-somebody to care enough to try to pull them up.

The team manager had asked that all the players be brought under the same psychiatrist, so that he could "keep up" on their mental health status. This seemed unfortunate to me, as I had no intention of sharing any of the player's confidential information with their manager. From experience, I knew managers tended to be like that-anything that was going on in their players lives was automatically their businness, no ifs or ands about it.

That was the problem with this industry, the nature of the beast. I couldn't help it. I hated it. The constant gossip, scrutiny and exploitation of young men who were clearly doing their best. It had bothered me for a while, long before I had quit my job with the University a year ago.

I hadn't intended to come back. But things change. Sometimes things you can't see coming reach up and stab you in the back, and twist so deep that they tear you apart inside. They destroy your life, your opinions, and your idealism. They force you back into places you never wanted to be. But it's not just about being forced to take on this job, it's about the time I'm losing while I'm here. Precious time, that was slipping quickly through my fingers.

I was hardly happy about taking this job. If anything, I was only here for the money. Money I desperately needed to pay for my son, Riley, to have his third round of chemotherapy. When I had quit my job that year ago, with the intention of taking my family and travelling to Greece, we had never expected to need medical insurance in the States-we were going to be living in Greece, after all. Jacob had continued to work, but his medical insurance only covered him. We let mine expire. Looking back, I don't know how we could have.

Then Riley began to develop bruises. First, just tiny ones on his knees from kneeling on the floor, or on an elbow from the doorframe. Then, one afternoon, after sliding forward into the seatbelt of his car seat when Jacob drove around a corner, the bruising began to spread. Like an uncontrollable wildfire, it swept from his hips up to his shoulders, turning the skin black with the blood pooled beneath it. He was in so much pain he couldn't wear a shirt. That night, while he was sitting in the bathtub, his nose started to bleed. I've never seen so much blood. Jacob held a towel beneath his nose, trying to catch the blood before it ran into his mouth. I drove. Twenty minutes later, when we arrived at the hospital, Riley was barely conscious. Two days later, his doctor told us he had been diagnosed with childhood leukemia.

I settled on the edge of the couch, crossing my legs in front of me. Edward was already more than twenty minutes late, and I was starting to wonder if he was coming at all. It was as I was pouring water from my beat up coffee cup onto the withered palm tree that the office phone started to ring, it's tiny red lights and shrill, annoying pitch making me jump.

"Hello?"

"Bella?"

I started, alarmed. Jacob never called in the middle of the day-or he hadn't before a year and a half ago, when he had been forced to quit his job, because someone had to care for Riley-and someone had to make enough money to care for him.

"What's wrong?"

Jacob must have heard the panic in my voice, because he sighed.

"Honey, it's Riley. He's asking for you. Can you bring some ice cream, and his teddy bear when you come?"

I nodded numbly, even though I knew he couldn't see me.

"Sure. Where…where are you?"

Jacob sighed, audibly.

"We're at Children's. The chemo…it's hitting him harder than they'd thought."

I felt my breath catch in my chest. It had stopped making sense to me. The doctor explained, the nurses comforted, even Jacob tried to help me. Nothing worked. I was as scared of my son's death as I was of my own.

Psychiatry and broken hockey players forgotten, I peeled out of the parking lot at an alarming speed. I pulled up in front of our family house, complete with the white picket fence. Some shatterd version of the American Dream still clawed it's way up when I looked around our property-and saw Buddy, our yellow lab, lying pitifully in the front lawn beneath the swingset that Jacob had built before Riley was born.

"Hey Buddy."

I muttered, half heartedly patting him on the head as I passed. I fumbled with the key, turning it quickly in the sticky lock of the new oak door we had had installed two years ago, at the request of our "neighbourhood values" committee. Then, we desperately wanted to fit in. It's amazing how your priorities change. The hardwood floor clacked brittily beneath my heels, and I grimaced as I ran one finger over the film of dust that had collected on the banister. Almost like no one lived here at all.

But, with taking shifts at the hospital with Riley, and crashing in the family rooms with other exhausted parents, it was exactly like no one lived here. Riley's room smelled like little boy, but all his toys were away on their shelves, his bed was made, and his clothes were folded within the dresser drawers-rather than spilling across the floor like they did when he was at home. I took his teddy bear, worn soft, and missing one eye, off the bed. In the freezer, seven cartons of ice cream in various flavours dominated the space. I grabbed the vanilla-it looks prettier coming back up, which it indefinitely did when Riley ate it.

I kicked off the heels, and slid my feet into my lace up running shoes, completely oblivious to the fact that I was still wearing my black nylons and skirt that I wore to work. Pulling my hair up in a sloppy pony tail, balancing the ice cream and bear in one arm, I ran out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

Jacob looked exhausted, his eyes crinkled at the edges with lack of sleep. His once easy going smile looked tired. I sighed, handing off the ice cream to him, before going to Riley to hand over the bear.

"Hi, Mama."

He struggled to sit up, his eyes dark with fatigue.

"Shh, honey. Don't get up."

I bent to kiss him on the forehead. He smiled, and snuggled up against me, his frail body warm beside me. Jacob gently unhooked the IV tube from the bed rail, careful not to tug on the needle that attached it to Riley. He looked at me sadly, before he walked out of the room. As I watched his back disapear, I realized I hadn't even spoken to him since I had arrived. I moved to stand, but Riley jerked, and gripped my hand in his. I sighed, feeling helpless, and stroked his fever heated forehead. Jacob came back into the room, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, and slumped down in the chair beside the bed.

"Rosalie is his nurse."

Rosalie was one of the nurses who had worked Rileys case when he was last here. Jacob was fond of her, but I found her blonde-and perky. Was it really that hard not to act like the sun had just appeared over my head when she was describing my child's life or death condition to me?

"What did Doctor Cullen have to say?"

Jacob shrugged.

"Nothing much. He's sick, Bella."

"I know. But has anything changed since he was last here?"

Jacob shook his head, running his hand through his hair. I noticed flecks of silver that I hadn't noticed before. My cell phone buzzed against my hip, the tiny screen read work. I stood up quickly, flinching inadvertently as Riley moaned in pain. Jacob moved to sit beside him, giving me a look that made me feel so guilty I almost didn't want to walk away. I ignored him, and slapped the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Isabella Black?"

"Speaking. How can I help you?"

"Hi Isabella. This is James Saon, the manager of the Wildcats. I just wanted to check in and see how the session with Masen went."

I swore under my breath.

"Uh, well, James, Edward never showed up."

"What?"  
>"I left after half an hour."<p>

"Well then. Ms. Black, I assure you, next time he will be there. Even if I have to drag him there myself."

I found myself listening to the dial tone. I snapped the phone shut, praying it would never come to that, and returned to the glassed in room. Jacob looked up, his gaze accusatory.

"Who was that?"

"James Soan. Manager of the Wildcats."

"Right, he's the manager. And that makes him more important than your own son? Jesus, Bella."

I closed my eyes, not wanting to walk down this path again tonight.

"Jacob, I have to work. How else are we going to pay for this?"

"You're off work."  
>His words were blank, the tone accusatory.<p>

"Jacob, please. I'm trying here…"  
>"Yeah, trying to please some fat corporation! Bella, your son is-"<p>

"Mama?"

Riley looked up at me with wide, scared eyes. I was beside him in an instant.

"It's okay honey. I'm right here."

Jacob scoffed under his breath, rolling his eyes as he stomped past me and out of the room.

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_Edward will be introduced in the next chapter. (: Please Review! Let me know what you think! _


	2. Chapter 2

**November 7****th****, 4:50 pm**

I glanced at my watch, seemingly out of place against my wrist, watching the seconds tick by. I was once again waiting on Edward Masen, in the same office I had been in two days earlier. Twenty minutes later, the door flew open, making me jump.

"Sit down. Do not make me call security, Masen, because god help me, I will."

I recognized the voice as James Saon, the Wildcats manager. I assumed the man next to him, with the hard eyes, was Edward Masen. Although he stood about a head shorter than Edward, James pushed him forcefully onto the couch across from me, grinding his teeth.

"Fuck you."

Edward's voice was low and barely audible. James snatched his hand off Edward's shoulder, turning his attention to me.

"Here you go, sweetie. Just what you ordered. I want to see him scoring by the next game."  
>His tone was bitter and sarcastic. I raised my eyebrows.<p>

"Right. Thank you, Mr. Saon. I assume you have other things to do?"

He looked surprised as my tone mirrored his own. Fighting with Jacob had given me bountiful practice. Edward smirked. James, now slightly flustered, marched smartly from the room, slamming the door behind him. I settled myself in the chair across from Edward.

"Isabella Black."

I held out my hand. He ignored it.

"So, Edward, tell me about yourself."

He shrugged, letting his gaze fall to the floor.

"What's to tell? You already know everything."

His voice surprised me almost as much as his words-his voice was a smooth, velvet contrast to the harshness of his words.  
>"Excuse me?"<p>

"Please. Don't tell me you haven't seen my face plastered on every fucking magazine cover-the "fearless leader", who's supposed to save this team, right? I'm not anybody's hero. But that's what they want to believe."

"Edward, I'm not here so you can be a hero. I'm here so you can fix whatever's going on in your life."  
>"Right, whatever's making me not score."<p>

I sighed. This was not going the way I had planned.

"Edward, I don't care if you score or not. That's not what I'm about. Can you tell me about the accident?"

His gaze finally met mine, his eyes flashing.

"No, I can't."

"Okay. What about when you punched Mr. Volturi in the face?"

I asked, refering to the medic he had punched in the face over the bottle of Gatorade. Edward laughed.

"Sure. It was mine. He took it."

"So you hit him?"  
>"No, I told him to give it back or I was going to deck him. He didn't."<p>

"I see. Edward, can you tell me what you've eaten in the last twenty four hours?"

"Yeah, a burger, two eggs and toast, and a ham sandwich. With fries."

I glanced at his body-not starving, but clearly not as muscular as it should have been. If he really ate as much as he had just claimed, he would be a proper size. Plus, the foods he had just listed off were hardly the diet a star athlete would be following. I made a mental note to press him further on it.

"Okay. What about the accident, Edward? What happened that night?"

He gritted his teeth.

"Fucking bus driver. He lost control of the bus. I was supposed to be…lots of good players died in that crash."

"Supposed to be what, Edward?"  
>"Nothing."<p>

"Were you supposed to be riding on that bus?"  
>"NO! You don't know anything about it."<br>He was suddenly on his feet, pacing back and forth. It gave me time to examine his shaved head and the dark circles underneath his eyes.

"Edward, are you sleeping?"

"As much as I can."

"How much?"

"'Bout an hour a night, okay? I keep seeing shit when I try to sleep."

"To do with the accident?"

"No, the hos-"

He suddenly fell silent, as if remembering something he shouldn't say. I examined him critically, trying to read whether or not I should push him further.

"The hospital?"  
>He shook his head vigorously.<p>

"No."

But his tone sounded defensive, and I wondered what it was that was bothering Edward.

**November 10****th****, 5:04 pm**

"Edward, can you tell me about the rest of the team?"

It was getting late-again. Jacob wasn't going to be happy, which meant niether was Riley. Edward looked up at me with light in his eyes for the first time since I had met him.

"Sure. There's Emmett-he's our goalie. He's ridiculous-forever with a different girl, and never paying attention. Plus, he's always at the rink super early-it's spooky."

"Do you get along well with Emmett?"

Edward shrugged.

"We used to be alright…now, I don't know, he's in his little world, and I'm…not the player I used to be, I guess. But that's what happen's when-"

He cut off suddenly, looking anxious.

"When what, Edward?"

"Nothing."

"Edward, it could be important. When what?"  
>"Nothing, okay? Just…let it be."<p>

I nodded, understanding that I had pushed him as far as I could possibly push him.

"What about the rest of the team?"

He shrugged, looking more defensive.

"Well, there's Jasper…"

He broke off, smirking to himself. Curious in spite of myself, I leaned forwards, resting my hands on the desk.

"What about Jasper?"

"He's cheating on his wife with some chick he met in a bar one night. I think her name's Alice."

My eyes widened, surprised, but Edward seemed unperturbed. I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"Laurent…he's kind of a loaner. Back-up goalies tend to be like that. Lives alone, obsessed with his sister-I think she went to rehab about a year ago with a meth addiction or something-he doesn't really talk about it much. He's only nineteen, though, still a rookie. He has time to grow out of the wierdness. Emmett doesn't."

He laughed, a smooth, almost out of place sound that I realized I had never heard before. I nodded, encouraging him.

"And Alec, he's the biggest jerk most of the time. I honestly hate him most of the time-he's always ragging on the new guy, cause he's mad that he's not Coach. Whatever. That guy's got some serious shit to deal with."

I nodded, but I didn't say anything.

"What about you, Doc? What's your team like? Who're you depending on?"

I looked up, startled by the abrupt directness of the question. Edward clearly understood what I was asking deeper than I had imagined.

"My team?"

"Sure. Your family-the people you depend on. I mean, that is what you wanted to find out about me, right?"

I nodded, wide eyed. Never, in my whole career, had I been so utterly unprepared for anything.

"Well, I'm married, and I have a son named Riley."

"Huh. I was married once."

"Really."

He nodded. I smiled, relieved to have the subject back on him. I didn't usually share personal information with patients. Letting that wall crumble usually ended badly.

"Yeah, she got shot by her ex-boyfriend."

"What? Oh, Edward, I'm so sorry."

I cursed silently, realizing I had let a lot more emotion slip into my words than I had meant to. He examined me critically, his brown eyes dark.

"It's not a big deal. We were going to wind up divorced anyways."

I nodded, unsure of what to say next. I glanced at my watch, realizing it was a quarter after six-an hour after I was supposed to be at the hospital.

"Edward, I've got to go."

"Sure. See ya, Doc."

His tone was easygoing, but I could see the dark light in his eyes. Like a fading shadow, he disappeared from the room before I could say anything else.

…

Riley was sitting up in bed when I arrived at the hospital, playing dinosaurs with Rosalie, a bowl of partially melted ice cream sitting beside him.

"Hi, Mrs. Black. Jacob just went to call you."

I smiled shortly, taking the plastic dinosaur patiently out of her hand and settling beside Riley.

"Right. Thanks, Rosalie."  
>She smiled brightly, oblivious to the coolness in my tone. Just then Jacob walked into the room.<p>

"I couldn't get ahold of her…Bella."

"Jacob. Sorry I'm late."

My apology seemed to remind him of the fact that I was in fact late, and his smile turned cold.

"Right."

I sighed, standing up. I wrapped my arms firmly around Jacob's middle, as if trying to convince him we could still be a couple. He pulled my arms undone, and handed me a half eaten apple.

"It's your turn. He's having trouble keeping anything down tonight."

Riley looked up at me with sunken eyes as I settled next to him on the bed.

"Mama, my tummy hurts."

Jacob leaned over to pass me the blue plastic bowl, but he moved too slow, and vanilla ice cream came back up all over my good work suit. Riley instantly burst into tears, his whole body shaking, and I brushed the hair off his forehead, bending to kiss him.

"Shh, baby, it's alright."

Riley was wailing hysterically as I shifted to stand up, his fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt.

"Mama, don't go. I didn't mean to."

My heart shattered as he tried to hold on to me.

"Riley, sweetie, I'm not going anywhere. I just need to put on different pants."

"No, Mama. Take me with you. Don't go."

Jacob shot me an I-told-you-so look, and began to hook Riley's IV onto a walking stand.

I wrapped Riley's baby blanket around his frail shoulders, and pulled him against my chest, careful not to get my hands caught in the various plastic tubes that held my son prisoner. He curled against me, his tiny hands tugging in my hair, his breathing still uneven from his tantrum. Jacob wheeled the metal stand alongside of us, ignoring the squeel of the rubber wheels against the linoleum. We turned into the family room, where my grubby sweat pants lay in a tiny overnight bag-that had lasted me weeks and weeks in this hospital.

"Hey Bella, Jacob."

Renee Swan greeted me, and smiled knowingly when I rolled my eyes and gestured to my leg. Her daughter, Jessica, had an inoperable brain tumor, and was undergoing his third round of chemotherapy. Riley waved sleepily at Renee, and she smiled, patting his head.

"Hi, Riley. Maybe you and Jess can play tomorrow, hey?"

Riley nodded, his eyes drooping, and Renee smiled understandingly at me. Her husband stood by the window, staring out into the bleak, city night. Angela, or Angie, walked over to greet us, her baby son in her arms, the child sized IV attached to a walking stand much like ours. As I glanced around the room, I realized that we knew almost everyone here-like a huge, dysfunctional family, with no hope left. Most of the parents in this room had children who were not going to get better, never going to graduate, never going to drive a car, or move away-some would never even learn to ride a bike.

Just that fast, time came crashing down on me, and I disintegrated into a chair, still holding Riley in my arms. Tears came pouring down my cheeks, and I was unable to stop the feeling of absolute dread that came over me.

"Mama, don't cry."

"Bella…"

"Jacob, I'll go get her some coffee."

Their voices sounded far away, sort of like being underwater. Jacob put one arm around me. It was a futile effort to still my shaking, and I rose, embarrassed, and thrust Riley into his arms.

"Mama will be right back, honey. I just need some…"

It was a sentence I couldn't finish. I needed…what, air? Space? For my five year old son not to be dying? It was a question that had too many variables, too many possible answers. I walked swiftly down the hallway, through the adult cancer wing, and out into the frozen night.

It was cold, and soon I was shivering as well as crying. The night surrounded me, casting shadows across my face, and dancing wind into my tears, freezing them against my skin. I felt as if I was drowning-and I had no idea how to escape.

"You okay?"

I jumped, pulled from my stupor by a low, silky voice, and I whirled.

"Y-yes, I'm fine. Just…"

I stopped suddenly short, examining the face of my rescuer.

"Edward?"

"Hey, Dr. Black. What, uh, brings you here?"

"Bella, please. I…"

I trailed off, unsure of how-or if-I could continue. Edward studied me inquisitively, seemingly unable to read the expression on my face. I noticed a green hospital bracelet around his wrist, and made a mental note to ask him about it at our next session. Suddenly, that seemed incredibly stupid. I was crying. I was vulnerable-why did it matter what I asked him, as long as he didn't question me?

"Are you being admitted?"  
>"What?"<p>

Edward was looking at me like I was crazy-and maybe I was. He followed my gaze to the paper bracelet, and swore under his breath.

"No. I'm…"

He trailed off, and I suddenly realized that we were both caught up in tradgedy we didn't dare speak of, lest it bring the whole thing down around us. I silently wondered what his was. He jerked violently on the varnished paper until it snapped in two, dropping it on the ground.

"I've got to go."

He turned sharply, leaving his secrets lying in the snow, but before he walked away, he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders.

"It's cold out here."

Stating the obvious, but I didn't let him see how warm his simple gesture made me feel.

When I eventually returned inside, Riley was fast asleep in his white sheeted bed. Jacob sat beside him, a sad look in his eyes.

"Bella."

For once, he sounded relieved, rather than angry, to see me. He stood up, coming to wrap his arms around me, and I clung to his shirt, trying not to let the tears rise up again.

"He's going to be okay."

"That's what they keep saying. But Jacob, what if he's not?"

Jacob kissed me, and for some unknown reason, I let him. His kiss didn't warm me, though. Instead, I started to shiver violently.

"Cold?"

Jacob met my eyes. I shook my head, unsure of the answer. His fingers played with the stiff fabric of Edward's jacket.

"Who's coat is this?"

I shrugged.

"A man outside. He wanted to know if I was alright."

Jacob sighed.

"And are you?"

I nodded, plastering on my best fake smile.

"Of course."

Perhaps it was this unshakable fake strength that would eventually destroy us.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey kids! Please review! I need to hear what you think, that's what makes this story worth writing. (:_

**November 12****th****, 9:30am**

I woke up slumped in the arm chair next to Riley's bed, the round clock on the wall outside the sliding glass door ticking the seconds away as I lay there. I bit my lip-I had less than thirty minutes to be in my office. The Wildcats were playing tonight, and I had a meeting with James Saon, and then a therapy session with Edward. My suit was gone, lost somewhere in the factory of the hospital laundry system. I sighed. My sweatpants and spagetti strap tank top were the only thing that would get me to the office on time.

"Jacob?"

I placed one hand on his shoulder, shaking gently as I pulled on my turqoise button up sweater over my cream coloured tank top. Jacob blinked sleepily at me.

"What? What time is it?"

"Nine thirty. I've got to get going."

He looked at me groggily, as if he was unable to process my words.

"Tell Riley I love him. And Reneesuggested he and Jessica play today, if Riley's feeling better later."

Jacob nodded, watching as I pulled my hair into a ponytail and walked out of the room.

My bag hung over my shoulder, and I knew I looked like crap as I walked into the conference room. James Saon looked me over, and a resounding frown settled over his blatantly Italian features.

"Ms. Black."

"Isabella, please, Mr. Saon. I'm…I'm so sorry I'm late, I just…"

His glare silenced me.

"Ms. Black,"

He chose to ignore my request for first names. I felt myself bristle.

"Are you aware that the Wildcat's staff has a dress code on game days? And, actually, for most, all days?"

"No, I wasn't, however-"

"Ms. Black, I'm not really interested in excuses. If you didn't know, you know now. I expect you dressed appropriately-especially on game days. We represent the team within this community."

"I understand that. It won't happen again."

I was rapidly becoming less and less enchanted with James Saon, my back rising each time he spoke. He smiled smugly, and leaned across the table, resting his hands on the solid wood.

"Now, let's on to business, shall we? Edward Masen."

"Edward is fine."

"How is his therapy going?"

"Fine."

James looked less than pleased, but his earlier disposition had put me in no mood to give him any form of information.

"Ms. Black. I did not hire you for "fine". I hired you for an update on the mental health status of my star. Now, is Edward making progress?"

I nodded numbly, looking glaze eyed out the window. I couldn't help but think that I probably had at least one degree on James Saon-and he was referring to me as if I was a child. I snapped to look at him, my frustration no doubt showing.

"Edward Masen is making progress. Unfortunately, his mental health status is not something that I am at liberty to discuss with you. And, please, Mr. Saon, if you insist upon formality, call me by my title? That is Doctor, you understand?"

James Saon flushed red, and I realized that part of the reason he didn't like me was probably the fact that I could give just as good as I got.

"Well, DOCTOR, I expect Masen to be scoring tonight. Got that? And you can tell him I said so when you see him this afternoon-if he shows up."

He snickered at his own sarcasm, and I bit my tongue to keep from snapping back and informing him that, since he had removed himself from the situation, Edward had been attending therapy quite regularily.

"Thank you, Mr. Saon. I look forward to meeting with you again."

I stood, shaking his hand with my words simply dripping sarcasm. He seemed unsure of what to make of me, but shook my hand anyhow, and watched as I walked resolutely out of the room.

I leaned against my desk, shoving the last bites of a ham sandwich into my mouth. I was still shaking from my encounter with James. It was about twenty after ten, and I was starting to wonder if Edward was going to show up. A knock on the door made me start, but relief flooded through me as I realized that I had been right about Edward.

"Come in."

Edward walked in, dressed in a navy blue suit that hung off his body as if he had lost weight recently. He surveyed my sweat pants and tank top, and laughed.

"Nice pants, Doc. Don't you have to dress up like the rest of us on game day?"

I sighed.

"Yes, or so I've been told. It's a long story."

I laughed nervously, but the words sounded fake, even to me.

"I've got time."  
>Our eyes met, and I became lost in the darkness that were his. He moved towards me, settling on the desk next to me.<p>

"Come on, Bella. We both know I'm not crazy. I'm only here because Saon's a dick."

I nodded numbly. Crazy or not, there was something going on with Edward. To tell him would break every rule of conduct, everything I had learned and sworn to throughout my practice. And yet, somehow, I wanted to tell Edward. I craved the relief it would bring.

"Edward, I…can't. You're a patient, and…"

"And that breaks the rules?"

I nodded. He sighed, slumping back on the couch. My heart clenched.

"Why don't you tell me what you were doing at the hospital last night?"

He shook his head.

"No can do, Doc. That would break my rules of conduct."

Just like that, the intimacy we had shared only moments ago was shattered. Edward smirked, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.

"Well, Doc, I'd best be going. I've got a game to play in."

He stood abruptly, and walked towards the door, and though I knew the right thing to do would be to have him sit back down, I didn't. Somehow, I didn't want to start another argument.

"Of course. Good luck. I hope you…"

I trailed off. I hope you what? Score? Win? None of these were likely possibilities. Edward's features twisted into a half smile.

"Sure. Whatever, Doc."

He turned to walk away, but paused in the doorway.

"Why don't you come to the game tonight?"

I hesitated, and he winked at me.

"I'll get you in the box where Saon isn't, okay? Seven thirty."

I was left with no choice but to nod, and smile. He smiled back, the first real smile I'd seen in weeks.

I crossed my legs, looking out over the crowded arena to the players on the ice below. True to his word, Edward had made sure that James Saon was not in the glassed in box with me, and I silently thanked god that he had. Jacob had hardly been happy when I had told him I was going to the game. In fact, the string of expletives he had unleashed in my ear was vaguely reminiscent of the day we had found out Riley was sick.

"Black, right?"

I looked to my right to find a man with scraggly red hair and a navy blue suit standing over me.

"Isabella, actually."

I corrected. He smirked.

"Right, right. Aro."

He held out on hand, which I shook. It was limp, and clammy, and he held on to my fingers for a second too long. I cringed.

"Mmm, well, Aro, I'm going to get back to the game."

He nodded, settling next to me without being invited.

"So you're the new therapist?"

I nodded without turning my attention away from the ice.

"Masen is a real handful, eh?"

I snapped to face him. I barely knew the man, and he was attempting to pull information out of me.

"Aro. I'm watching the game. I'm not here to discuss Edward Masen, or any of the other players on this team with you."  
>He looked wounded. I didn't apologize.<p>

"Did he tell you how he punched me? That's why I get to be up here. They're just praying I don't sue."

Suddenly it all made sense. Aro, the medic, who Edward had punched in the face, over a bottle of Gatorade.

"Right. Well, Aro, to be perfectly honest, I would have punched you too. Please, excuse me while I watch the game?"

I smirked with tired satisfaction as he stood, and walked briskly away. A cheer erupted throughout the building as Edward snapped the puck into the net, and I smiled to myself. James would undoubtedly be pleased.

**November 15****th****, 10:30am**

"That is what I'm talking about!"

James Saon came breezing into my office, slamming his hands on the wood of my desk. He straddled a chair, sitting to face me, a brilliant smile lighting his features. I frowned.

"I'm sorry, what is what you're talking about?"

"Masen! He scored twice on Friday. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant, Ms. Black."

I nodded, smiling brittily.

"Thank you. Have you told Edward all this?"

James rolled his eyes.

"Nah, he knows. I want you with him."

"Excuse me?"

"I want you with him, all the time. Home games, away games…whenever he's at the arena, I want you there too."

I bit my lip, contemplating my next words.

"Mr. Saon…My son is very ill, I can't just…leave."

"You're not leaving. You're fulfilling your job. Here, this is a copy of our games for the next month. Pack your bags, Ms. Black."

I didn't bother to argue as he waltzed from the room, still riding high on Edward's accomplishments. The next game was tomorrow-in Barton. I looked down at the schedule, wondering how I was going to justify this to Jacob.

"James Saon dropped by this morning. He said he was very…pleased with you."

I smiled encouragingly at Edward. I didn't mention my run in with Aro the medic. My sweat pants had been replaced, as requested, by my work suit, and I was feeling more in the role of psychologist.

"Of course he's pleased. I scored, didn't I? That's all he wants."

I nodded, jotting down possible excuses to use on Jacob later. Edward didn't look impressed.

"What're you writing?"

I sighed. I could come clean, or I could keep lying-both to myself and him. I chose the truth.

"I'm writing excuses."

He looked confused, coming to stand behind me, to read over my shoulder.

"Excuses for what?"

I shrugged, feeling his prescence behind me.

"To explain to my husband why I have to travel with the team."

Edward reeled backwards, his eyes widening. Whether he was pleased, or disturbed, I couldn't tell.

"You're travelling with us?"

I nodded.

"They figure…well, since I was at the game on Friday…"

"Why do you have to explain to your husband?"

I looked out the window into the bleak afternoon. Edward went to sit back on the couch across from me, clearing my thought space, but also leaving it vaguely empty.

"Because…he won't want me going."

"Why?"

"Why were you at the hospital?"

Edward fixed me with a solid glare, and remained silent. We faced off silently for a few moments, until Edward stood, walking towards the door. When he got there, he turned to face me.

"What makes you think I'm going to tell you anything? If you can't even tell me the truth, about your husband, why should I tell you what I was doing at the hospital?"

"Because I'm the doctor! You're the patient, Edward. That's the way this is supposed to work."

He paused, as if thinking about his words before he hurled them at me.

"I think I liked you better in sweatpants, Doc. It's nice to know you're a real person sometimes."

His words caught me off guard, and I felt myself start to visibly shake. Of course I didn't seem like a real person anymore-the wall that all psychologists hid behind had come down with the return of my suit. He hesitated in the doorway, as if waiting for me to speak. I wanted to tell him, but somehow, I couldn't find the strength to form the words.

…..

_Please Review! (:_


	4. Chapter 4

I was drifting in sleep, still bathed in the cool blue glow of the TV, when a knock on the door jolted me back into the present. I got up, blearily stumbling my way to the door, flipping on the light as I walked. I almost laughed when I opened the door to find Edward standing there. He looked me up and down, taking in my pajamas-or lack thereof, and smirked.

"I wanted…to apologize."

I nodded. Edward stepped into the room, and with his close proximity, I was suddenly aware of my flimsy clothing. I pulled the hotel robe from one of the hangers, and wrapped it around myself.

"Congratulations on the win."

He laughed.

"You just can't stay out of it, can you?"

I sighed, a smiled lighting my face.

"No, I guess not."

He leaned towards me, pushing a stray piece of hair off my cheek. He brushed his body up against mine, and I felt my breath catch.

"I hope one day you trust me enough to tell me why you were crying at the hospital that night."

His words were barely above a whisper, and I felt myself lean unconsciously against him. He felt strong, solid and warm against me in a way that Jacob no longer did.

"I hope one day you trust me enough to tell me what you were doing there that night."

Our eyes locked, and I felt my pulse quicken. He looked away first, dropping his eyes to the ground. _Make sure you tell Edward Masen you're sacrificing your family for him. _Jacob's words ricocheted viciously through my head, and I felt myself freeze.

"Well, uh, goodnight, Edward. I…accept your apology."

He nodded, glancing at me critically as he walked out of the room. I closed the door quietly, but I couldn't help but feel disappointment wash over me as he walked away down the hallway. Room 201. I wandered back to bed, trying not to let Edward's words cloud my thought space as I tried to drift off to sleep.

I woke up in total darkness. The clock beside me read 2:33am. I glanced around, knowing I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, even as I lay back down. My thoughts were haunted-by Jacob's vicious words, and Edward's whispered hope. I rolled off the bed, flipping on the light. Two forty five am found me standing in front of the door to room 201. I was chewing relentlessly on my lip, and my pulse was racing with indecision. I wanted to tell Edward. The time had finally come to come clean, and tell him everything. That being said, I couldn't help but wonder: Would I have the strength? I was knocking on the door before I could give it a second thought. There was a long pause, so long I almost walked back to my own room, before the door open. Edward stood before me, a towel wrapped around his waist, the water still running down his body to puddle on the floor. I blushed in spite of myself.

"I-I'm sorry. I'll…leave you to your shower. Sorry."

He caught my arm as I moved to turn away.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I can put clothes on."

Edward opened the door, ushered me inside, and moved swiftly to put on clothing.

When he came out of the bathroom the second time, he had a pair of grubby sweatpants on, hanging low around his hips. I raised one eyebrow.

"Thought I'd join you in the sweatpants fashion, Doc."

I smiled, but it was a shaky smile at best. Edward slumped beside me where I was seated awkwardly on the bed, supporting himself on his arms.

"I…do trust you."

He looked at me, his dark eyes understanding.

"But not enough to tell me."

I shook my head.

"No. I…"

I trailed off, unsure of how to begin. Edward let himself collapse onto the sheets, and I bit my lip. He smirked, catching my gaze.

"Do you need me to put a shirt on, Doc?"

I glared at him.

"No. I'm fine, thank you."

Even as I said the words, I had to concentrate not to run my eyes over his body-which was sculpted beautiful from years of hockey and physical activity. Edward caught this and laughed out loud. I glared him into silence, pushing myself off the bed and settling into the armchair on the opposite side of the room. Edward watched me walk, his eyes traveling over me exactly the same way. I faced him, my eyes flashing as I pulled my robe tighter over my pajamas.

"My son. His name is Riley. He's five and a half."

Edward was silent, watching me carefully for any sign of weakness.

"My husband…Jacob."

Edward visibly flinched at the mention of Jacob. I shook my head.

"It's not like that…Riley…is sick. He…has leukemia. This is his third round of chemotherapy. If it wasn't for him, Jacob and I would be…well, we would have gotten divorced a long time ago."

I was surprised to see Edward visibly relax.

"Why were you crying that night?"

His voice reminded me of molasses-smooth, dark, and incredibly rich.

"Isn't that enough?"  
>My voice shook slightly, and Edward sat up to examine me more closely.<p>

"No. You're stronger than that. I can see it…that wouldn't be enough to make you cry."

I hated him for being so observant, for knowing me better than I knew myself. Edward was smarter than I had originally given him credit for.

"You're right. I…Riley threw up on me. I needed to change my clothes, but he…started to cry, begging me not to go. We took him with us, and walked down to the family room, and I…"

I trailed off, and Edward stood, pacing slowly in front of me.

"It was stupid, really."

He scrutinized me carefully.

"Probably not. Try me."

I shrugged.

"I just…I realized that, just like me, most of the parents with children in there will never even get to see their kids ride a bike."

My voice broke, and Edward was kneeling in front of me in an instant.

"That's not stupid, Bella."

I looked away. It had been stupid, coming here. Why had I told him? I shouldn't have, and I knew that for a fact. My ability to treat impartially had been strewn the moment that Riley's name passed over my lips. I stood, walking quickly towards the door.

"I…I'm sorry, Edward. I shouldn't have told you that, any of it."

He followed me with his eyes, but didn't move.

"I'm not. I'll see you back in Faber, Doc." 

**November 17****th****, 10:20am**

I slouched in the seat on the bus, staring out the window, my eyes glazed with regret. I couldn't believe I had let Edward crack the wall I hid behind. I also couldn't believe I let my emotions play a role, let myself become weak enough, vulnerable enough, that I felt need to share my feelings with a patient. I was still berating myself silently when Edward dropped into the seat next to me.

"Morning, Doc."

I pulled my body further into my seat.

"Hello, Edward."  
>I surprised even myself with the coldness of my tone. Edward raised one eyebrow.<p>

"What's your problem?"

I smiled, too sweetly.

"Not a thing. How're you doing today?"  
>He shrugged.<p>

"Alright, I guess."

"Just alright?"  
>Edward nodded, pushing his sleeves up over his arms.<p>

"Yeah, I'm kind of tired."

"Didn't you sleep well last night?"

He bit his lip, seemingly puzzled over my sudden coldness.

"I slept alright."

As he crossed his arms, I noticed a bruised needle mark on the inside of his arm. I gripped his wrist in my hand, wrenching it towards me before he could pull away.

"Edward, are you…using?"  
>My words were whispered incredulously, my eyes wide. He pulled his arm away, his eyes hard.<p>

"No, I'm not."  
>His words were snarled, but barely above a whisper, rough, like spun sugar beginning to crystalize.<p>

"Then what's this from?"  
>I ran my finger down the bruise.<p>

"Nothing."

He stood up, his eyes flashing his irritation. If I had been in any position to question, I would have gotten up and followed him down the aisle. Unfortunately, my own stupidity had put me in a position far from my comfort zone, and I didn't move. Instead, I pulled out my blackberry, and sent an e-mail to James Saon, requesting a drug test on Edward Cullen, to take place immediately upon his return to Faber. And still, I wondered what, other than drugs, could have made the track mark in his arm…


End file.
